


Five Christmases that went wrong and one that didn't

by love_in_mind_palace (mysleepyhead)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Christmas Fluff, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Very gross christmas fluff, a lot of fluff, disgustingly domestic, no trf, these two make me sick, with a smattering of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-17 02:13:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13067001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysleepyhead/pseuds/love_in_mind_palace
Summary: John isn’t sure about most of the things in his life. Except for the fact that he loves Sherlock, Sherlock loves him back and that after years of bad luck, he is getting the Christmas he always deserved.





	1. Candy cane

**Author's Note:**

> I normally suck at writing fluff. And there are already tons and tons of Christmas fluffs. Which are utterly perfect. But I decided to give it a try anyway. Don't know if it turned out to be boring, disastrous..or both. Mission was sappy johnlock fluff. You decide what I achieved in the end.
> 
> I will post one chapter everyday. So this piece of writing will end on 24th December.

John's never considered himself a religious man. Most of it could be blamed on his parents and the rest of it on the war.

His parents were overly religious. Church every Sunday. His parents were also from the same  group of people who basically disowned Harry after she came home with her first girlfriend. From then on, religion and parents became entwined. And war sealed the deal. How God tolerated that much bloodshed, he couldn’t fathom. Or maybe the concept of worshipping something he couldn’t see never really appealed to him.

So John doesn’t worship any deity. Had stopped doing so a long time ago. Not even believing in an entity powerful enough to control everything around him.

But he does worship sometimes. All the time perhaps. A different kind of worship. He worships a man with every fibre of his being. Has been for the longest time.

When the first light of the day finds its way on Sherlock’s bare skin in the morning, John performs one of the many kinds of worshipping rituals that he has mastered. He places his open palm on Sherlock’s back. Feeling the warmth of the skin.

Sherlock gets restless under his palm. Precursor of him waking up. Only then does John scoot closer. And continues his reverence by kissing the back of Sherlock’s neck, tasting each cubic centimeter of skin which ends in a trail of fingertips. By then Sherlock usually wakes up halfway. Expressing approval with his muted groans. John has fortunately known him long enough to distinguish his groans. At least he thinks he does. So he dares to touch more.

First, he untangles both of them from the mess of blankets Sherlock always manages to make. Then gently, very, very slowly he turns Sherlock on his back and maneuvers himself over the half-asleep man. He bends over him on all fours and just continues to look. Until Sherlock wiggles and sleepily groans under him and gives a very indicative push of his hips. John smiles to himself on the victory of making Sherlock desperate for his touch again. John kisses each of the worried creases on his forehead and tucks away the unrested curls from his lover’s face.

 

He's never quite sure the exact moment Sherlock wakes – sometimes it's while he's counting the freckles on his shoulders with his lips, sometimes it's not until one of Sherlock’s hands wraps around his waist to bring them closer. Sometimes it’s when he is kissing the soft skin of Sherlock’s belly making Sherlock lose his breath. Each time it’s equally exciting.

Then they move together slowly. Heavy limbs and tight aches in their stomachs. Sherlock dips his nails into John’s back and John rocks against him. Taking both of them in his palm. The bed springs squeak just as usual. Always protesting. And Sherlock looks glorious in the morning light. Face slack, eyes half lidded and breathtaking. So beautiful that it doesn’t take much for John to reach his peak. One look at that face and he is usually gone. And Sherlock gasps with such intensity and looks at John with such wonder in his eyes, surprised to find himself as the subject of John’s adoration.

John has asked him numerous times about why his attention makes Sherlock so surprised.

“Have you looked at yourself, Sherlock? Everyone loves to look at you. Everyone wants you. It should be me who ought to be surprised of what I have that makes you even like me, let alone agreeing to be in a relationship with me. So why does it surprise you that I am hopelessly in love with you?”

At that Sherlock has pouted his lips and made a dissatisfied noise but resumed kissing John the same. If not more vigorously.

 

********

 

“Maybe your amygdala is compromised, John.”

Sherlock has wrapped himself around John when John has lost all hope of Sherlock cleaning the kitchen and started to do it by himself.

“No, it is not. I am quite sure.”

“Then why do you tolerate me?” Sherlock sighs and brushes his lips on the nape of John’s neck. His voice sounding distant.

“Because you are a moron and you will never understand simple things and that’s a very attractive quality.” John replies in a deadpan voice.

 

That has made Sherlock laugh and bite John’s ear and things escalated quickly. John has found himself struggling for breath, standing between Sherlock’s legs in the less hazardous part of the kitchen counter while Sherlock equally struggles for breath. Then John buries his nose and breaths in Sherlock’s sweaty smell.

“I made you, a doctor, have sex in this unsafe kitchen. Still going to say that your amygdala is not compromised?” Sherlock’s fingers brush John’s hair lightly.

“It’s not compromised, idiot. I just love you. Deal with it.”

“Makes even less sense. But it can work. For five days. Then I will ask you again.”

“You never ask directly Sherlock. You just make a face.”

Sherlock narrows his eyes and continues to talk.

“Then in just about four days and twenty three hours and fifty five minutes, I will make that face again.” Sherlock shrugs with indifference.

John has no idea how people live without being in love.

 

********

 

But irrespective of his religious beliefs, John Watson loves Christmas. And unfortunately he had never had a really good one. At least not a Christmas that remained good from the beginning to the end. In a weird twist of fate, there was always something to make it less perfect. And if he actually could make a graph of feeling distressed in the x axis against Christmas in the y axis. There would be a steep curve.

The first Christmas which had the potential to become good and memorable, was ruined by none other than his sister. John was fifteen. Harry seventeen. And she decided to get drunk on Christmas. In front of all the guests. And Christmas was spent sitting on the bathroom floor while Harry almost puked her guts out.

“You should go back out there. I am the black sheep of family, not you. Mum needs to display her gem.” Harry was talking between heaves.

“Shut up Harry and just keep doing whatever you are doing.” John had snapped back.

“You shut your mouth Johnny and go enjoy your Christmas.” Harry's voice was croaky. Face pale. But she still had to prove that she was stronger.

John couldn’t blame her for always trying to prove herself. That's what anyone would do in her position where both of her parents were ashamed of her because of her sexual identity. John could never blame her for trying to search for the attention that everyone had stopped giving her.

“Are you angry with me, Johnny?”

“Not at all.”

“Look at me.”

“Why?”

“So I can see if you are lying.”

John had looked up and met Harry's eyes. Harry had observed him silently for a few moments.

“You are a little bit angry though. You are basically trying to not burst.”

“Yes because,” John had replied. Slowly and calmly. “because we could have this. Christmas with everyone together. Did you have to prove yourself today? How strong does this make you look, you think? There were different ways to be a rebel. One which did not end with you puking and no one profiting.”

Harry had slumped down beside the toilet. Catching her breath.

“I didn’t say I was exactly planning on it.”

“Trust me. It shows.” John had replied chuckling. Yes, he was angry at Harry. But angrier at his parents. And everything else.

 

Harry had sighed and then with great effort shuffled the pocket of her trousers. Revealing a small wrapped packaging.

“Sorry, couldn’t put a bow on it.” She had said grinning. “This will have to work.” And had thrown it in John’s direction.

Inside it was a tiny key chain. A silver snowflake with a J in the middle.

“I know you got me a necklace. And that has cost you a chunk of your pocket money. This doesn’t compare.”

“Shut up. Will you?” John touched the curved J in the middle. “This is perfect. Thank you.”

“Happy Christmas Johnny. And sorry for ruining it.”

“Happy Christmas Harry. And yes you should be sorry for not letting me eat the rest of the mince pies.”

Now when John looks back at it, that Christmas was the beginning of all the Christmases that went wrong. It started with a mild one.

 

********

 

“Do you think Mrs Hudson enjoys baking or is it just a coping mechanism?”

The question which is completely unrelated to previous conversation makes John look up from his paper and stare at Sherlock who just stares back. A few silent seconds pass and Sherlock shows no attempt to repeat the question. Just continues looking with wide eyes.

“Coping mechanism? For what? The horror of having you as a tenant?” John replies with an expressionless face.

Sherlock throws invisible daggers through his eyes while John suppresses his laughter. And then he can’t. So he folds down his newspaper and turns to face Sherlock.

“Why would she cope, you clot? What is her trauma?

“I dunno.”

Sherlock curls his lips in the adorable way that usually makes John’s heart give a flutter each damn time. And makes him want to do things to the owner of those lips at very inappropriate times.

“Being surrounded by stupidity is tiring for me. Maybe she feels the same.”

“No, she doesn’t. And it isn’t tiring for you either. You enjoy being surrounded by stupidity. Admit it.”

“No, I do not.” Sherlock squints his eyes in defence.

“How would you get to display your wit and belittle the whole of Scotland Yard if people were not mostly stupid?”

“Sarcasm. I am not an idiot, John. I understand sarcasm. Are you mocking me?”

“No, darling. You are my special snowflake. How could I mock you?”

“That word is generally used as an insult to describe people who think that they deserve special treatment and higher privileges for being different when they are actually not.”

“I am using it as a mere endearment.”

“You are rude, John.”

“And you are very adorable.”

Sherlock makes an angry noise at that and turns his back to the room.

“Do you want a cuppa?” John asks laughing.

A groan comes out of Sherlock in reply. John ignores it and gets out of his chair.

 

When John comes out of the kitchen. Sherlock is not facing the wall anymore. He has turned towards the room a bit and fallen asleep. Just like that. Mouth slack. Snoring lightly. Making John's heart fill up with the warmest affections possible.

John watches for a moment. The bliss of his surroundings still not familiar to him. Out of all the futures John Watson had in mind, there was none which involved meeting and falling in love with an eccentric human being and genius. And now it's impossible to think about a future which does not have Sherlock Holmes in it.

He places the mugs silently on the table and kisses the unruly hair tenderly. Sherlock only stirs. But does not wake up.

Down at Speedy’s, a song plays. Its faint lyrics seep through the open crack in the window. Or the slits on the floor.

  
**_My world is filled with cheer and you_** ** _  
_****_This Christmas_** ** _  
_****_And as I look around,_** ** _  
_****_Your eyes outshine the town they do_** ** _  
_********_This Christmas_**


	2. Fairy lights

It’s a Sunday. One of the usual dry days that comes between two cases. It's blissful and uneventful. It’s immensely needed and John definitely enjoys it. Because as much as Sherlock sometimes makes him forget his age, he is not in his twenties anymore. Sitting by the fire with warm socks on and having a stay in is what John craves sometimes. 

And Sherlock usually tries to show that he gets bored of this whole arrangement. But John is never fooled. At least not after all these years. The relief is too apparent in Sherlock’s face when he lets his facade fall unbeknownst to himself. John has noticed Sherlock groan and take a sigh of relief. Even smiles to himself while he thinks John can't see. But Sherlock will not agree to doing any of that even if he was held at gunpoint. 

Sherlock shows a tendency to fixate on specific things on days like this. The interests vary from the quality of the tea to the fundamental error in the national tax system. Or just Mycroft and how annoying he is. Currently, his obsession is tv commercials and in between the soaps, he continues to makes snide comments about every Christmas themed tv commercial the whole morning. 

 

It gets to that point when John cannot ignore it anymore and replies from the kitchen while drying the dishes.

“I get it. You hate the festive times. Because people might be genuinely happy. Even criminals. So it lessens the chance of Lestrade calling you about a juicy murder.”

“You are entirely wrong, John.” Sherlock sounds offended. 

“Of course I am. Care to explain why?” John replies coming out of the kitchen and standing at the doorway.

Sherlock's eyes shine at the prospect of that. 

“Holiday seasons are the perfect time for silent crimes. But they have a tendency to get unnoticed by…”

John finds himself in front of a choice. Either listen to Sherlock’s words or concentrate on the lovely face he makes while talking about things that he is enthusiastic about. John chooses the latter. Knowing in full that Sherlock would murder him if he knew that his words went in vain.

  
  


********

  
  


The best eggnog John ever had was while meeting Fred’s family for the first time. Fred had the nicest house in Birmingham. Rich household. He was visiting as a friend of course. As Fred’s best friend from medical school.

“We have heard so much about you, John!” 

Fred’s parents had welcomed him in their house while Fred carried his little backpack. Both of them were young and really were not ready to come out anytime soon enough. Also Fred’s family would disown him if they ever knew.

It was a dreamlike Christmas. The eggnog was too good and John did not have much alcohol tolerance back then. So he might have held Fred’s hand at some point.  In a way that might have exceeded the normal range of friendly intimacy.  Fred’s parents didn’t notice. But somebody else did.

Fred had come to visit him before going to bed. But then someone had knocked at the door. Fred’s elder brother Timothy looked scary even when he was just standing.

“You think no one can see?” 

Tim’s eyes had darted between John and Fred. Maybe trying to read how their faces changed expressions suddenly. And then he had tutted while shaking his head.

“Either he never sets foot here ever again and you just stop whatever you are doing or I will make sure mother and father find out.”

 

John knew there was no way to convince Tim of anything else. There was a look in Fred's older brother's eyes that was extremely unsettling. Making his threat feel too real. But Fred was still trying.

“How will you even prove anything to them, Tim? You just can’t bully your way around everything.”

Tim’s lips had made an expression that could be regarded as a smile. But his eyes were telling an entirely different story. John never saw that kind of look ever in his life again.

“Fred. Do you think they will care for any proof? Isn’t doubt enough in this house?”

Fred had stopped talking and John could see him trying to not break into tears.

“You get only this night. I keep my promises. I will not tell them anything tonight. But if I ever see him in your life again after today, I am keeping my other promise. And trust me, I will know. Good night Freddie. Good night Johnny.”

The door had closed with a soft thump.

Fred had just stared at the closed door for minutes until John touched him on his shoulder. That had made Fred shudder and close his eyes. John had seen droplets of water falling.

“I thought no one would notice. I am an idiot. Tim always sees everything. How could I not know?” Fred had started crying.

“Shh. Shh. You are not an idiot.” John didn’t know what better words he had or if he even had any at all.

“I just wanted a good Christmas with you. And now I  have to choose between two things that shouldn't have been a choice.”

John felt a chunk of his heart forever turning into charcoal. 

“Maybe we could run away.” Fred had looked up through wet eyelashes. 

“And live on what? Selling our medical textbooks? I am pretty sure you will not have control over your trust fund if you abandoned your family. And moreover, I can’t ruin your future. You can live without me. It will get easier.”

“I never thought this would end this way John. I...”

“Don’t.”

John had placed a finger on Fred’s lips. And then wiped away the tears slowly with the sleeve of his shirt. 

“Don’t make it harder than it already is.”

That didn’t make Fred stop crying. He had started to sob harder in John’s arms. Grunting like he was in pain.

John’s eyes had remained dry.  Throughout the night and the next morning when Fred came to the station to bid him goodbye. Only when the train had started to run, his eyes stopped listening to him. He had cried until his eyes started to hurt and he felt sick. 

  
  


No idea what happened after that. But Fred never came back to med school. A Christmas took him away from John.

  
  


********

  
  


“You have been writing something for the past seventeen minutes.” Sherlock walks past John holding an extremely pungent smelling test tube in hand.  

“Yes. Christmas shopping.” John mutters absentmindedly. And adds two more things.

“Tedious.” Sherlock murmurs going back to the direction he came from. This time holding a rag in hand along with the previous pungent smelling apparatus.

John replies at that without looking up from the paper. Going over the list for the fifteenth time.

“I am not asking you to come with me so you don’t have to care. And really I won’t be upset. I don’t expect you to accompany me everywhere now that we are a couple. Both of us have things that the other one is not enthusiastic about. It's all fine.”

“Thank you.” Sherlock says from the kitchen. And the conversation ends there. Neither of them talk about it after that for a day.

When the next afternoon John comes back from the clinic to freshen up before going out again for the shopping, he discovers Sherlock sitting in his chair fully dressed as if he was getting ready to go out. Putting on his scarf with great concentration.

“Going somewhere?” He asks while checking for his wallet.

“Yes. An experiment.” Sherlock says slowly without meeting John’s eyes. 

That is not a new thing. Sherlock once walked around the whole city to find out the ratio of blue and black backpacks. Had something to do with an experiment on the perception of colour. So John shrugs and walks out of the flat. 

 

The nature of the experiment becomes clear when John notices Sherlock walking beside him. His face looking like he is very determined to solve every mystery that occured in London. And shows no sign of parting ways with John anytime soon.

John stifles an upcoming roll of laughter. And stops in the middle of the road to face Sherlock. Ignoring the glares of passerbys clearly disturbed by his sudden halt.

“Why did you stop? What is here?” Sherock looks at the surroundings.

“Are you too proud to even say that you are bored and have no work in hand so you are just out here to stop the boredom?”

“Actually, I have at least three new cases. Lestrade called to let me know about one. And two people asked for help in the forum. One of which looks like a slow poisoning.” Sherlock replies. Making a face which can only translate as someone who is trying to establish an empty argument.

“Then why are you here?” John asks while trying not to lapse into laughter. 

Sherlock will certainly not appreciate laughing at his distress in the middle of the road.

But the question definitely catches him off guard.

Sherlock blinks for a few seconds at that. 

“I don’t know.” He sounds thoughtful.  Like he is stuck on a hard puzzle. 

 

John doesn’t ask anything again but the smile that emerges on his face, is one of undiluted happiness. There is a certain way of reading Sherlock Holmes’ affection. And John can read it better than anyone else. It's usually the actions by which Sherlock feels most comfortable to express his love. That can be done by doing an unscheduled cleaning of the fridge or buying ridiculously expensive jams because John had liked a complementary jar gifted by a patient once.

John resumes walking and feels a beautiful sensation of warmth coiling in his chest.

“I think we need bourbon.” Sherlock murmurs from behind. Making John stop in his tracks. 

“You saw the list!” John exclaims at the face currently half hidden with the blue scarf in a futile attempt to be safe from the wind.

“Maybe.” A muffled voice replies. “I might have just glanced at it once. That does not mean I love Christmas shopping now.”

“So you say.” John steps into the liquor shop.

In the end they only manage to buy five things from the list. First because Sherlock is not exactly cooperating to make John's Christmas marketing a success. But the second and most dominating reason being that is a call from Lestrade disrupts the plan. 

 

But when Sherlock holds John’s hand and gets him out of the crowd and continues walking like that, with no intention of letting John go anytime soon, John feels like he might die from the unbelievable and never ending string of happiness. And there’s one thing he’s absolutely sure of. This might end up being the best Christmas ever.


	3. Silk ribbons

Sherlock slowly brushes his feet against John’s under the table in Costa. And that makes John almost spit out his coffee. John has always been quite fond of PDA. But after being in a relationship with the world's most clueless detective, he never expected to do it or to be done to him. And although brushing feet under the table does not necessarily fall in the PDA category, it's unexpected from Sherlock. But very welcome. 

So John does not hide his smile and just brushes back. When he lifts his head just a tiny amount, he sees a small smile appear on Sherlock's face, with a bit of blushing. But Sherlock does not look at him. And not so surprisingly gets very busy with his smoked bacon and cranberry panini. John wonders if Sherlock lost the bet intentionally just so they can have breakfast in Costa and play footsie.

********

Sherlock holds his hand more than usual on the road. Even places a kiss on top of John's head when they patiently wait at the cash counter at Tesco and talk about the unnecessary divisions of sandwich breads. John's eyes go wide at the display of affection. Sherlock’s face looks like he does not consider it as a big deal at all.

********

It’s ten days before Christmas. A burglary has dragged John from his peaceful late morning  slumber and Sherlock from his peaceful wakefulness to a jolting start. John doesn’t try to hide his yawns. He isn't sure if he can even stop them. Even the coffee didn't help.

“I just love this time of the year.” Lestrade says standing beside John. Completely ignoring Sherlock's actions on the dead security guard which right now involves sniffing his hands. Which is very much normal.

“Because it does excellent things to your tonsils? You sound like a frog, Gavin.” Sherlock replies. Still sniffing. Intently.

Greg shakes his head and looks at John after taking a startling sneeze. 

“Even you couldn't make him a bit civil, huh?”  

“Some things are beyond my capability.” John says. Taking a look at his insufferable lover. 

_ And some things I don’t want to change. _

“Yes John. Tell Lestrade that everything is not sexually transmitted. John and I exchange bodily fluids. But not fundamental behaviour.”

That makes Greg sneeze harder and make a pained face.  John tries to not turn red.

 

When they are out of the crime scene it is snowing outside. Just scattered flakes around. But steady. John feels as Sherlock stands closer to John on the sidewalk. And tugs at John's sleeves silently. That makes John look away from the road and at Sherlock. Sherlock looks at John for a considerable amount of time so John opens his mouth to ask. 

But before John can even take the next breath, a pair of cold lips are on his own. Sherlock is kissing him. In broad daylight. Very chaste , very soft, very minimal tongue involvement. Very shy.

There is a gasp from somewhere behind. Sounds like Anderson. That doesn't phase Sherlock. Instead he nuzzles John's nose and gives a final chaste kiss on his lips before turning back to road again. And then his demeanor is just the usual. Like he is just waiting there for a cab. Like he didn't kiss John in front of the Yard. For the first time outside the flat. John releases his fingers from clutching his own jacket.

 

“What just happened there?” John asks after he has replayed the incident at least twenty times in his head.

“Which one?”

“You don’t know which one?”

“There was a robbery. A dead night guard with five stab wounds. Anderson is having an affair with Donovan.  _ Again _ . Lestrade has a cold.” Sherlock says counting his fingers.

“I am talking about the one you did just before you got into this cab.” John raises his eyebrows.

“Oh that.” Sherlock shakes his head. “I think that was pretty obvious. I kissed you. I presume you don't have problems with the people knowing about us part.”

“No, I have absolutely no problems with that. Because the first time we had sex you did not forget to tell the whole Yard about it in the middle of handcuffing the robber.”

“So which part surprised you?” Sherlock narrows his eyes making John take an unnecessary gulp.

“The public display part. You don't really like unnecessary touching. Especially in front of other people.”

Sherlock blinks a few times as if slowly processing. Then a dusting of blush appears on his cheekbones. John can't believe his own eyes. Then his own ears when Sherlock talks.

“A lot of things which used to be unnecessary and boring is changing in nature. To my own surprise.” Sherlock drops his head.

“Is it now?” John feels like he won the lottery.

“Yes.” 

Nah, it’s not a lottery. It’s just payback for everything he did good in his life. Which included cleaning the fridge and under the sink every two weeks. And going to war and getting shot while trying to save people.

 

********

 

Not so surprisingly John has been very fond of cliches his whole life. So at twenty one, he got overly excited for his first kiss under the mistletoe. And it was almost worth it. Felt like he was a teenager again. Ginger ale and kissing like idiots. 

It did not matter that John ended up with an overnight shift and the only Christmas allowed was the one in the hospital common room. And the mistletoe might even not be mistletoe. Well, it was definitely holly. And that he was still in his scrubs. Heidi was just there to give him company. Few people did nice things for John at that point.

Thw universe decided that John could not be allowed even that.

Heidi's family members decided to fight exactly that day. 

Any sign of enjoyment was wiped from her face as soon as she got off the phone from her house. She had put the phone in it's cradle and looked at it for a few quiet seconds

“I really need to go home. I am sorry John. I am so sorry. All I wanted was a Christmas with you and this idiot family of mine...”

“You couldn't know.”

“My sister just had to give mother a sleeping pill and had to stabilize her because these idiots I call my father and brother decided to give my already asthmatic mother a full blown attack.”

“It alright. It’s really fine. You should go home right now.”

“Why should I? I don’t want to fall between that. My brother and my father are adults.”

“But your sister is fourteen. And she is definitely not an adult.”

She had blinked for a few seconds before opening her mouth.

“Wow John. How selfish am I that I forgot about how distressed she is?”

“Heidi. It’s fine. You are not selfish. You are just stressed. Go home. And just be with your mother and sister.” John had hugged her.

“So our plans...” She had asked sighing into John's shoulder.

“Situation calls for it to be cancelled. And plans are cancelled to be made later, aren’t they? Also we didn't have much plans beside me doing rounds and you getting to see me for a maximum of five minutes in between.” John had sighed looking at the Christmas lights in front of him.

“Not so merry Christmas, John.”

“I agree with you on that.”

 

********

 

It was almost impossible to end up sweaty in December before John met a certain someone. He made John sweaty by doing things that should not be done. He made John sweaty by making him run at his whim. He made John sweaty by making him do activities which John seriously thought he wasn’t in the age or shape for.

John gasps for air lying on the more sweaty back of Sherlock until Sherlock stirs under him.

“What?” He asks. Face still smashed on Sherlock’s shoulder. Could bliss be toxic and addictive? Because it certainly feels like that. The way he can't even think about a life not like the one he is having right now. It is what the textbook definition of addiction is. Or maybe it is just Sherlock he is actually addicted to. Theoretically it is the same. The thin line between Sherlock and life is entirely invisible now. Sherlock is what is life is. And his life is entirely consisting of Sherlock.

“John, you are heavy. Get off me.” Sherlock groans.

“Umm no.” John lies more firmly on the bony back which for some reason feels like the best bed in existence.

“You can stay for thirty more seconds then I will shake you off.”

“I will see you try. You fall asleep over me for hours. It’s only fair that I lie over you for some time.” John replies placing a close mouthed kiss on the shoulder in front of him.

“John.”

“It has been just fifteen seconds.”

“Not that.” Sherlock scoffs. “Since when has it been snowing again?”

“From when we got out of the cab. I brushed some off your hair. Don’t you remember that?’

“Um. No.” Sherlock sounds thoughtful.

“Why? Are you alright?”

“Yes I am. But the reason I didn’t notice the snow is because you grabbed my arse when we got out of Bart’s. And rubbed your hand in a very suggestive way the whole cab ride to here.” Sherlock says partially rolling to his side making John change his posture and results in Sherlock looking at him with a tiny smile hanging from his lips.

“You are very distracting, John.”

“In a good way?” John does not try to hide his proud smile. And watches as Sherlock bites his own bottom lip.

“In a very good way.”

John slides off Sherlock’s back and drags him closer by the hip. Wrapping his legs around Sherlock and brushing his nose with his own that makes Sherlock sigh and close his eyes in content.

“So you are saying I make you forget your surroundings and it’s not a bad thing? You have gone soft, Sherlock Holmes.”

“Sacrifices I make for love.” Sherlock smiles wide with his eyes still closed and his hand around John’s shoulder.

“Humbug.” John says kissing him again.


	4. Firewoods

“Is a Christmas tree absolutely necessary? These things are humongous and a hazard.” 

Sherlock scrunches his nose as John stops walking around the Christmas trees. Trying to remember the height of the ceiling at their flat.

“Hazard… Really? Sherlock?”

Sherlock makes a very disapproving face.

“Trees shed leaves. Can attract insects. You are a doctor, John. You ought to be more concerned about these. And don’t struggle to remember the height of the ceiling. Choose something from that side. All of those are under the required height.”

Getting answers to unasked questions was kind of a perk of living with a mind like that. So that part of Sherlock’s speech is not surprising.  The other part is.

John turns around and counts his fingers.

“Sherlock. I live with someone who leaves human fingers in the freezer regularly. Occasionally severed human heads make surprise appearances. I find bacteria cultures beside the loaf of bread pretty often than it is even considered normal. Let alone healthy. The experiments on the kitchen table are able to kill the whole neighbourhood.”

Sherlock narrows his eyes at John. Criticism is never an acceptable thing to him.

“Your point being, John?”

“That you are not really an authority to make such rules.” John shrugs and turns his back at Sherlock.

Sherlock whines as John continues shuffling.

“Can I help you, sir?” The shop assistant stops in front of them with an eager to help smiling face.

“Yes, help my partner to find the perfect dead tree to decorate our shared space so that we can celebrate a pointless evening.” John can clearly imagine the exact angle Sherlock must have rolled his eyes while saying that.

 

********

 

When the bullet had hit him. That did not make John think about how his future will be. How painful death might be. As the piece of hot metal had seared through his skin. Tearing the muscles. He never expected to be alive at the end of it. All he could think about was that he wanted to visit five more countries. That silly regret was the only thing which felt most important at that moment. Because he was absolutely sure that there was no way he could be breathing and walking after that. 

 

After that, life very much resembled hell. Excruciating pain and peaceful numbness was all that felt real. They had to restrain him. He heard that later.  Fear was not really something to think about at that moment. Fear was a luxury. Or just a non existent thing. Pain was everything. Pain and more pain. The pain should have killed him. He would prefer if it did because then he wouldn’t live to experience the consequences. But it didn’t.

Fear is what he felt standing in the middle of the small flat with the single bed and a little desk. He felt so scared that his hands were shaking. He was sweating while standing in the heat less, cold room.

Harry had asked if he needed help. He remembered that she couldn’t even visit him in the first month back from war. She was going through a tough breakup with Clara, a desperate attempt of reconciliation and rehabilitation. It certainly looked like Harry was the one who actually needed the help. 

Ella might have been the most calm headed person he had ever met in his life. Or maybe psychiatrists were always like that. How could he know? She was trying hard to make John go back to his life. Irony was that John no longer had one. He was a burden. A thing to feel pity for.

While walking back after giving an interview to a clinic his feet had stopped. He was not getting the job. He was sure about that. But he realized he actually forgot the existence of Christmas. Or that it was December already. Two young girls were crossing the road with more than enough shopping bags in their hand. Something had twisted inside his chest. 

Ella had asked him to start a blog. He had filled out the necessary credentials. But at the counter it was showing zero posts. For the past one month. He had absolutely nothing to write. Or at least nothing positive.

 

**It’s Christmas today. I wish someone was with me.**

 

He had looked at the black text for half a minute before pushing the backspace hard until it left behind just the blank page. The cursor had blinked and blinked until John’s visions had went blurry.

He was still too proud to declare himself as miserable to others. 

He had bought a pretty looking frosted cupcake while out grocery shopping earlier. Hoping that it would make him feel less lonely.

It didn't. No matter how much oxytocin chocolate can produce. No way anything compared with the warmth of a human presence. Being surrounded by loved ones. That one had no substitute. Certainly not a lump of flour and chocolate chips.

If only Harry and Clara did not have a break up. They could invite him over for Christmas. He could sit with them. Drinking cheap wine. Talking about unimportant stuff. He could almost forget about the non existing pain in his leg and the enlarging black hole of loneliness inside him. Both of which showed no sign of stopping anytime soon until John stopped himself.

 

He had no idea if he could actually be able to see another year. Or if before that he would somehow use the thing lying silently in his desk drawer. It was tempting. And absolutely easy solution.

 

********

 

John watches as Sherlock intently checks out his reflection in a Christmas ornament.

“We have a large mirror back at the flat.” He murmurs.

“I am not checking my hairstyle, John.”

“You are not?”

“No. I am observing this orb.”

“What’s so special about that one?” He asks walking besides Sherlock.

“There is a dent.”

“Can’t see it.”

Sherlock huffs impatiently and wraps his hand around John’s neck to bring him to the exact position as his. But shows no sign to move from his spot either. So the resulting situation ends up with their faces smashed together while John searches for the invisible dent in a bauble.

“See?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“It’s tiny and needs a microscope to observe.”

“We are not buying our christmas ornaments here.”

“Because one of them has an almost invisible dent?” John asks freeing himself from Sherlock’s grip. Sherlock blinks his eyes and makes a face which John has named as his silent frustrating face.

 

“John, do you know how dents on a plastic orb can happen?”

“Enlighten me.”

“It’s probably a manufacturing defect. All of those have the identical dent. That means whoever the supplier is here. Probably all of the baubles in this shop have the same defect. So there is a fundamental problem with the mould. We cannot buy here.”

John knows better than to make an argument. Because reasoning with that man never works.

“So where are we buying them?”

“From the one around the corner. Our Christmas tree has to be perfect.”

“As you say.” John nods and follows his eager boyfriend who practically runs towards the aforementioned shop. There is something weird about it. But John can’t figure out what. Wanting things to be perfect is a very Sherlock thing. But that was not it.

It hits him only after coming out of the market. And the pieces falls into place.

“You said our christmas tree earlier in the shop.” He points a finger at Sherlock.

“I did not.” The detective looks very uncomfortable suddenly.

“You certainly did.”

Sherlock snorts in reply.

“You like this. Admit it.”

“I admit to liking your company. Is that unacceptable.”

“Nothing is unacceptable and don’t change the topic. I am talking about Christmas. And everything that comes with it. You secretly like it.”

“Nooo. Of course not. That’s you just assuming things.” Sherlock laughs as if John has accused him of the most absurd thing in the world.

A doubt creeps at John’s mind.

“Sherlock?”

“Yes?”

 

“You were protesting about the decision about buying a Christmas tree. Which I expected. You have to show that you don’t really care about Christmas. But. Why did you make no protest about what tree I chose?”

“Well…” Sherlock stutters. And John makes a guess.

“You did something, didn’t you.”

“You are delusional.”

“Tell me or you are sleeping alone and yes I will lock the door of the room upstairs.”

“Ok. Fine.” Sherlock throws his arm. “Did you really think you just managed to get a discount on one of the most symmetric tree ever?” Sherlock’s face resembles a child who just got caught while stealing cookies. John sometimes does not understand who he is dating. A mature man or a child who is always out of control.

“What did you do?”

“I may have paid some of the price of the tree beforehand and taught the salesperson to manipulate you to buy that tree.”

“That’s.”

“A bit not good?”

“Yeah. No. I have no idea what it is. But certainly you could have told me some shite like ‘ _ John this tree has excellent shade of green. We ought to buy this _ .’ ”

“That would make me expose myself and my enthusiasm about Christmas.”

“You are exposed. You have been exposed since you found a dent on a plastic ball.”

Sherlock blinks in realization. “I did not think this through, did I?”

“Nope. Not at all, you idiot.”

“Mistakes happen. From next time I will be more cautious at concealing any kind of enthusiasm.”

“But I know your weakness now.”

Sherlock scoffs at that.

John shakes his head laughing and tenderly brushes away an erratic lock of curl from Sherlock’s face and watches until a dusting of pink slowly emerges on Sherlock’s cheeks. He enjoys this. To see Sherlock feel overwhelmed under his gaze. The fact that his gaze can be overwhelming and Sherlock Holmes can actually be overwhelmed by it, is fascinating.

“So what was the factor?”

“Which factor?” Sherlock furrows his brows.

“The reason for choosing the tree and going to an extensive length to ensure that I buy that exact one?”

“The branches are prime numbers.

John looks at his impossible lover for a moment then drags him by his scarf so that he can kiss him.

 

Sherlock was definitely insane. But John decides that buying a Christmas tree with prime numbered branches should be a rule.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay. I was so sick yesterday that I couldn't even look at my phone and just push a single button to post the chapter from the drafts.  
> I hope you guys are having a happy holiday. :)


	5. Goblins

The brunette had a pretty smile. And a beautiful voice. But that was not the point of that conversation. All those efforts behind questioning a witness went to vain, as Sherlock successfully scared her off in the end.

“Sherlock?”

“Yes John?” 

Sherlock turns to John with a stern face. Making John gulp. That face is a little bit scary and due to some absolute dumb physiological thing, very arousing to John.

“Your behaviour is kinda...”

“Frightening?”

“I was going for concerning. But yeah that too.” John says in a low voice.

“I thought you liked possessiveness. People like those things. The wondrous illusion of belonging to the one and only. It’s almost equivalent to the definition of slavery but has its own charm.” Sherlock directs an unsettling smile at John. But John Watson is not Sherlock Holmes’ long suffering partner if he can’t see what’s behind.

“I was just chatting her up to get information.” John walks closer to the petulant detective whose eyes looked like they could start projecting fire anytime.

“Lestrade could do that. He has a badge. And he is divorced from his wife. Why do you have to volunteer?”

“Are you questioning my credibility in the cases we work? I am not allowed to interrogate people?” John raises his brows.

“No. Not that” Sherlock rolls his eyes as if John  had just suggested going bungee jumping.

“Then?”

“When people look at you I have an urge to kill them. When you look at people and smile I have an urge to burn them alive. Don't worry, I will never act upon them. But..” Sherlock takes a breath.

“But when someone who has the potential to turn your head comes at close proximity of you, I cannot guarantee my behaviour. You should know that.” John doesn’t know if he is seeing things or Sherlock really looks like he is about to cry.

“You know no one else matters to me right? You cannot be so daft that you don’t know that fact.”

“But you..you.” Sherlock starts to stutter, and the rare occasion makes John forget his surroundings. So this was what being in a relationship with Sherlock Holmes was like? Stuttering Sherlock. Blushing Sherlock. Sleeping Sherlock. Jealous over a nobody Sherlock. The Sherlocks exclusive to only him.

It was like possessing a stolen art piece. 

John shakes his head .

“You are insane Sherlock Holmes. But it’s fine.”

“Don’t smile.”

“I really did not consider you as the jealous type.” John bats his eyelashes. 

“Wrong diagnosis doctor. I am very jealous.” Sherlock says slowly. And John suspects that he intentionally lowered his voice. Because the rumbling of the baritone resembles the one in which Sherlock makes it clear what he wants to do to John. Bedroom voice. Sherlock was doing his bedroom voice in the middle of the busy London street.

“Then I have points over you.” John replies slowly while maintaining eye contact. Trying to verbally loom over the physically looming man.

Sherlock blinks for a few moments. Then says in his normal voice.

“Please say you are genuinely kidding .”

“Well I don’t get insanely jealous.” John has no idea when his voice got so squeaky, but he has a perfect idea of what Sherlock is referring to.

“John Watson.” Sherlock tilts his head.  “Please. If you were a wooden boy your nose would be on world tour right now. Remember last Christmas?”

John avoids the piercing gaze and looks away.

“You counted texts John.” Sherlock says from behind.

“Sod off.”

John starts to walk fast in the opposite direction. Or the right direction. He has no idea. But soon finds a gloved hand holding his arm. He does not look at the owner of that hand, and hides a smile.

 

********

 

In simple words John wanted to kill Irene Adler himself. In his whole life, he had probably never felt this  threatened by anyone. Or anything.

“You are looking pale John.” Jeanette, his then girlfriend, had told him.

“It’s nothing” John had twisted his face “I am just tired these days.”

And homicidal.

_ How dare she look at him. How dare he interact with her.  _

The texts just wouldn’t stop coming. John wanted to break Sherlock’s phone. Stomp on it until the burning inside him had soothed. 

He was living a nightmare. Orgasmic sounds echoed in the flat just when John hoped that  _ this… God, let this be the last one _ . Sherlock sometimes picked it up to read the text. Sometimes he did not. It did not matter really. Just the knowledge that a chain of texts from her was in Sherlock’s phone was enough to make John go mad with rage. People would say it was hypocritical. He himself had a girlfriend.

But there was this matter. It was not simple. But not really a complex one either.

Sherlock Holmes just belonged to him. He didn’t care how many calculations were needed to reach that outcome.To him it was simple enough.

John never saw him typing back a reply. Didn’t mean he had to reply to her in front of him. Maybe Sherlock was texting her back when he was in the solitude of his own room. Maybe her texts were suggestive. Maybe he enjoyed them. 

John really couldn’t make himself imagine anything beyond that. It was too painful.

He had felt Sherlock’s eyes following him every time he was in the room. More than they usually did. Sherlock always observed John. It was nothing new. Maybe there was a secret experiment somewhere in Sherlock’s notebook where he was measuring John’s breathing. Or the frequency at which he wore his jumpers.

But this one was a bit more than that. Sherlock was physically moving with John. So he gathered the courage.

“If you want to say something, say it Sherlock. Don’t just follow me everywhere. You were following me into the shower yesterday.” John held the tea mug tighter than normal.

 

Sherlock didn't deny it. Didn’t make excuses. His eyes were curios and somehow scared. 

“I just don’t understand.”

“What do you not understand?”

“For the past few days, you have been uncomfortable. Why?”

“You are the genius.” John gritted his teeth. “Deduce it.”

“I can’t.”

“Then you are not as great a genius as you claim.” John suppressed an urge to break the mug.

 

It didn’t get easier at all after that. Not even by a tiny bit.

And Christmas was so unwelcome. 

 

Literally everything blurred in that evening. Everything except Sherlock. He forgot who was even sitting besides him on the couch. One of his never-staying-more-than-a-month girlfriends. Substitutes, he called each of them in his mind. Exactly what they were. Just to make himself forget the fact that who he wanted did not want him back. 

Everything paled in comparison to the man playing the violin with his eyes closed. 

John wanted that man so much.

He was so much in love by then. From when Sherlock peeled away the bomb vest from him and they weren’t dead by the end of it, he was sure that he was in love from the beginning. 

That christmas ended with Sherlock going out to identify Irene’s body while John searched for drugs in the house. “Dangerous Night John.” Mycroft had said. His eyes burned while going through Sherlock’s carefully arranged sock index. 

Everything could be his.

Everything actually was his. What he was, was just a big fucking idiot.

 

********

 

“I can’t believe how you could be so jealous of her?” Sherlock murmurs breathily in the darkness. Rubbing his face in John’s neck.

 

John doesn’t register the question first.

“Who?” He asks with his eyes still closed, rubbing the colder palm between his own.

“The woman.”

That makes John’s eye snap open, and look at the wall illuminated by the bedside lamp.

“It has been years Sherlock..”

“You didn’t answer the question.”

“Were you thinking about her when you were pounding into me?” John sits up and looks at Sherlock’s face.

“Nonsense.” John has no idea how people can look bloody gorgeous with just a sheet on them. But Sherlock does.  

“I am just asking you the question I should have asked you this morning. And you are just proving my point again.”

John hesitated.

“She was charming, wicked, pretty….. mysterious. She was something out of people's fantasies. And she was interesting. I thought…”

“That I might be in love with her?” Sherlock snorts. “Jealousy does make people blind.”

“It was…..plausible.”

“I am gay John. Homosexual. I Like men. I only sleep with men.”

“She was charming though.” John shrugs.

Sherlock makes a very pensive face.

“Did  _ you  _ fall in love with her by any chance? Doesn’t seem like your string of adjectives is gonna end anytime soon.”

“No of course not.”

“You were an idiot John. You still are.”

“I know.” John crouches over Sherlock and watches him silently.

“You think about her right? And before you ask, no I am not jealous anymore and the basis of this question is absolutely not jealousy.”

Sherlock smiles.

“I don’t think about her. But I will not forget her. I like to remember the memorable individuals I ever come in contact with. And she certainly passes the criteria.”

John cannot believe his own luck sometimes. He certainly did something in his past life. Or made a deal with the devil which he absolutely can’t remember. 

“I am a memorable individual right?” John smiles sheepishly. Lowering himself more so that he can feel Sherlock’s breath on his face, and puts one palm over Sherlock chest

Sherlock looks offended first. Then he grins mischievously. 

“Don’t lower your standards John. You have a throne room in my mind. I only allow a cardboard box for anyone or anything else.”

“Throne room? Really?” John blinks.

“Might be a dungeon. Or both. I have to remember a lot of thing about you. And they vary a lot.”

“I don’t know how to feel about that.”

“Maybe you can thank me by making that thing with peas for dinner.”

John makes a mock surprised face.

“You’re expressing an urge to eat food. Is this real life?”

“Christmas is in two days. This might be a miracle.” Sherlock bursts into laughter and John joins in, and feels the vibration of Sherlock’s laugh on his palm.

 

Indeed a miracle. How else can he be so damn lucky?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Phoebe Buffay's words, Happy Christmas eve eve. Hope you guys are having lovely times.


	6. Blessed

John cannot understand what is actually happening, But he has a very faint idea, a quite plausible one. But even that idea looks like too long of a stretch. Sherlock wouldn't do that, would he?

On the other hand, it's perfectly expected from him. Because only Sherlock Holmes can take excessive measures to secure his wish. And that in a twisted way. There is always an easy way to do something. But that way is never Sherlock Holmes’ way.

A Christmas party was agreed upon. Well, if by agreeing if anyone means the nod and muttered hmmms Sherlock gave when John had asked him how nice it would be if some friends joined them.

“Maybe just Greg, Molly, Mycroft and of course Mrs Hudson.”

“Mm hmm.”

“It’s just like last year. Well, almost.”

“Whatever you see fit John.” Sherlock had absent-mindedly said.

“That means you have absolutely no idea about what I said. You aren't listening to me are you.” John had sighed.

At that Sherlock hadn't replied and continued to look at a piece of tattered fabric more intently. If not more than before.

John is used to that neglect. It's not really neglect. It's just how that man is. Sometimes he is there, sometimes he isn't. And that is okay. John can live with that. John will love to live with that forever.

So John didn't mind really. He had shrugged, walked closer to Sherlock and placed a kiss on top of his head, who nodded and went about his business.

But contrary to what happened that, now it seems like Sherlock actually did pay attention to John's words. Current circumstance certainly points that way.

John doesn't know if he should ask Sherlock directly. He did that all the time before. He still does that. And nine out of ten times it is Sherlock’s doing. But he can't until he is one hundred percent sure. 

What happened was that everyone cancelled the invitation. Everyone suddenly seemed to have a rock solid commitment to somewhere else. And it wasn't as normal as each one of them tried to make John believe. Contrary to popular belief, John Watson isn't an idiot.

“John. Hi. Um. I am so sorry, can't attend the party. Neither can Daniel. Christmas at his family’s is must attend.” Molly was stuttering.

“But Molly you said..”

“I am forgetful John. I entirely forgot that I am not alone this Christmas, haha.” Molly chuckled. And John didn't know what to say to that.

“John. Sorry. Can't make it mate. Family emergency.” Greg sounded like he was in the middle of a crowd.

“So you are not coming to the party.” John has no idea why he wanted to hear it again.

“Yes and that's so unfortunate. Very sorry John.”

“Yes, it is. Thank you for letting me know.”

Sherlock definitely had something to do with that.

John taps his foot on the floor and watches as Mrs Hudson walks in with a tray of biscuits in hand. Maybe Sherlock was right and baking is indeed a coping mechanism for her. 

“Mrs Hudson, are you going to your sister's at Christmas?” John is suddenly very sure of the answers he will get from everyone.“That's right John. But how do you know. I haven't even told anyone yet.” she asks back with a smile.

John doesn't even have the energy to be angry at anyone.

“Had a hunch. Do you know where Sherlock is though?"

“Sorry dear. Absolutely no idea. How could I know if you don't.”?

“Yeah, you are right.” John murmurs.

There is something to be concerned about. This sudden disappearances of Sherlock. Now John tries to think about it. It has been happening for quite some time. It's not usually something John would give a thought about. But if Sherlock was complaining about the absence of crimes just a few days ago, then his disappearances beg the question.

John comes back to flat after the clinic, and doesn’t see Sherlock anywhere. No text on his phone. No note on the fridge. 

Sherlock walks in after an hour. Smelling of cigarettes. Absolutely reeking of them.

“Were you by any chance rolling in cigarette ash?” John doesn't look up from the book.

“No. I was solving a mystery.” Sherlock replies slowly.

“Without me?”

“Yes.” John watched in hindsight as sherlock goes in the kitchen and then instantly comes back.” it was a personal thing.”

“Personal mystery?”

“Sort of.”

Of course Sherlock wouldn't say anything to him if he didn't want. Living with the man doesn't always qualify to knowing him entirely. John tries to not mind most of the time.

“You have something to say?” Sherlock asks, removing his jacket.

“No one is coming to the party.”

“Oh really. I gather that’s unfortunate. You were quite excited.” Sherlock looks surprised. 

“Everyone suddenly had an unavoidable emergency.”

“Oh. Well then your party is going to be just us too. Is two still a party?”

“Depends on perspective.”

John abandons his plan to accuse Sherlock about the cancelled invitations. Because now the initial anger has passed, the idea of two of them in the party didn’t seem bad at all. It actually seemed the best. Now John doesn’t know why he even bothered to invite other people with them. Christmas evening with just Sherlock is the best idea. Why was he even bothering with anything else?

“I was thinking about decorating the tree. I can't keep postponing it anymore.” John says clearing his throat and standing up. 

“I will help you.” Sherlock starts folding his shirt sleeves.

“That is unexpected.” John blinks.

“No. It isn’t because if it's not symmetric, it will bug me and in turn I will make you miserable. That's why you are asking me indirectly.”

“You know me too well.” John tries to not smile. To show that the sudden need of secrecy is bothering him. But it's hard to not smile like a besotted teenager when Sherlock Holmes is walking towards you like a predator, or maybe a damn fine hunt. 

“Do I?”

“Yes. But can't say the same about you.” John isn't sure what he should focus on. The forearm or the v of the neck, because both of them are important and deserves the same amount of attention.

“Why?” Sherlock walks near. “You can't read me? Still?”

“Not always.” John sighs. And licks his lips. And accepts that he entirely failed to deliver the message.

“Good.” Sherlock replies whispering. And Just as John closes his eyes, he finds himself being backed to the table and being kissed fiercely.

“Just don’t get me a human kidney for Christmas, okay.”John says between kisses. Very hardy manages.

“Damn John! I was going to get you two.” Sherlock laughs and nibbles at John’s ears.  “I have been scavenging the graveyard for the past week. There is no return policy.”

“Don’t say it like that.” John laughs.

“Why?”

“Because you are capable of doing it.”

“And you will never know.” 

The tree decoration gets a little bit delayed. But John can't complain about that at all. There is absolutely no way he can complain while Sherlock’s mouth is doing wonderful things to him.

********

“Hand delivery? Why?” John scowls.

“It's important!” Sherlock peeks from the kitchen with his protective glasses on.

“Then you do it!” 

That makes Sherlock come out of the kitchen with a very offended face.

“I have to watch the time for this derivative to start giving precipitate. No way I am leaving this kitchen. Let alone the flat John. You usually don't get this distressed about chores. What's gotten into you?”

“It's Christmas!” John has no idea why he is trying to make Sherlock understand.

“So?”

“I wanted to stay home and do nothing.”

“That’s very mature.”

“Says the one who doesn’t do anything at all.”

“You are just talking nonsense.” Sherlock rolls his eyes.

“You are impossible. I have no idea how I still tolerate you.”

“Because you love me John. And I love you too.”

“Not helping Sherlock.” John says, snatching the file from Sherlock's hand.

Of course John has the most beautiful luck in the world to get stuck in a traffic jam. And he thought cab would be better than the tube. Of course it bloody isn’t on Christmas day.

“Merry Christmas John. Fancy a donut?” Greg walks towards John with a smile.

“It's Christmas Greg, eat something else for one day.”

“I would if I could. But the thing is that I have grown a likeness for a donut. Can’t abandon this suddenly.”

Greg disappears in the chaos with the file, leaving John to wait. John watches the clock ticking away impatiently. Almost ten minutes pass and he feels someone walking into the room. Sally Donovan.

“Well, look who it is. John Watson. Is your boyfriend here too?” She looks out of the door. “ Doesn’t feel like it.”

“No. He isn’t. I just deliver something. Have you seen Greg? If you see him ask how long will it take for the file for Sherlock to be ready.”

“File?” 

“Yes?”

“I don't know anything about that, but what I know is that Greg is in the common room talking about party decorations.”

“What?” John stands up in surprise.

“Yes. Why is..” John can’t hear Sally anymore as he takes long strides to reach the common room and finds Greg, indeed talking about party decorations.

“Greg.” John says, walking beside him.

“John. I told you to wait.”

“Cut the crap. How important was this hand delivery?”

“Um.” Greg hesitates. “I am not allowed to say that.”

“Message received. What did he threaten you with?” 

“Well.” Greg nods his head. “ He said he will slash my car tires open if I even set foot on Baker street today. And then told me to hold you here as long as possible.”

John isn't angry when he gets off the cab in front of his flat. He is everything but angry.

When John walks in, the first thought that comes out of his mind that Mrs Hudson might be back. Because of the smell. Fresh cookies. After the few seconds of surprise passes, John discovers that it’s definitely coming from their flat.

The drawing room is cleaner than John left it. And Sherlock is... Humming.

John walks slowly towards the kitchen to find a Sherlock with multiple trays of cookies. The kitchen smells like a bakery.

Sherlock looks up and the humming changes with a startled yelp.

“Honey, I am home.” John smiles at the surprised man.

“Well. You are back earlier than I estimated. That can mean only one thing.” Sherlock sighs. “Lestrade spilled?”

“Kind of. He actually yielded under my pressure.”

“Right.”

“Yeah.” John replies and looks at Sherlock intently. After a few moments Sherlock starts to get restless under the gaze.

“Well, John this silence is becoming very eerie. Say something.”

“You sneaky shit.” John says slowly.

“Because I baked cookies and sent you to on a false job?” 

“Yes, that. And because you cancelled anyone else coming to the party.” John shakes his head. “How did you manage that? And where did you disappear for several times last week?”

“Well.” Sherlock puts the tray on the kitchen table (magically cleaner than ever) and leans on the chair.  “I threatened Geoff, politely asked Molly,  Sent a threatening message and an email to Mycroft in case he even thinks about coming. Told ms Hudson that she wouldn't exactly prefer watching you fucking me beside the Christmas tree. She just said to mind the rug and see that I don't get burned on my back. And I was taking crash courses on baking. I make excellent cookies now John.” Sherlock says proudly.

“So all this why exactly?”

“Can't I wish for some quiet time with just you?” Sherlock shrugs. “Too many people are just crowd.”

“You live with me. We are always together.” John blinks. 

“Well, yes. But every day is not Christmas. And don’t act like this idea of Christmas with just the two of us is appalling to you. You're so relaxed since you know no one is coming.” Sherlock says crossing his arms.

“You could have just told me that you don't want anyone else here today. Could have saved you a lot of words.”

“Yes.” Sherlock shrugs. “But it wouldn't have the same impact. You were making yourself think that you wanted that. This way you figured out that you never wanted that Christmas.” A mischievous grin appears on Sherlock’s face. “You should thank me darling.”

“You don't even like Christmas Sherlock.” John blinks in disbelief. “Why take such excessive measures?”

“You do.” Sherlock smiles.

“Sacrificing?” John asks. And as soon as he asks, there is a sudden rush of feeling inside him. Someone trying to make his Christmas better, that’s a first. John Watson isn’t used to it. He will never get used to it.

“More like adapting. You adapted to my lifestyle. It’s only fair that I adapt to yours. You deserve that much. Actually, more than that.”

It takes quite a bit of a time to sink in. And with that simple sentence, John can’t hold himself anymore.

“God.” He mutters and covers his eyes and feels Sherlock walking towards him.

“Merry Christmas John.” Sherlock murmurs in his hair as John buries his head in Sherlock's shoulder. 

Sherlock doesn’t say anything else. Just holds him tight as John tries not to break down in tears.

Has anyone ever been luckier or happier than John Watson?

********

“I have a gift for you.” Sherlock comes out of the bedroom wearing John’s gift, a similar jumper like John. But an ugly Christmas jumper somehow makes Sherlock look more beautiful than ever. John has no idea what is the mystery behind that magic.

“You really shouldn’t have bothered for a gift. This is enough for me.”

“Don’t worry John. It’s not a kidney.”

“Intestines?’

“Sadly, not that either.”

John slowly opens the box to find a pair of cufflinks.

Sherlock goes behind John and puts his chin on his shoulder. “These are snowflakes. You said you lost the snowflake shaped key ring Harry got you for a Christmas. So I got you two. Real ones.”

“Thank you.”

“The shopkeeper told me a story about them. I don’t believe him, though. They tell all kinds of stories to sell things.” John feels a light kiss on his neck.

“What was the story?”

“He said that the previous owner of these had a wonderful, happy married life.”

“Is that so?” John asks, touching the dark blue glass in which the snowflake is trapped.

“Yes.”

John puts the box down and turns around to face Sherlock.

“We aren’t married yet.”

“Do you think a piece of paper determines what we are?” Sherlock says, touching his forehead with John’s.

“No, I don’t.”

“We are happily married already John.”

“I know.”

“But yes, someday we will get that piece of paper. Because I know that makes you feel better.” Sherlock whispers.

“You make me feel better. Nothing else matters.”

No one says something for a while. The confronting silence only bears the heartbeats of two people. 

“Is this a Happy Christmas for you John?” Sherlock asks, breaking the silence.

“The best I had so far. The best I will ever have. Thank you. Merry Christmas Sherlock.” John lifts his face up to kiss Sherlock.

“Stop. Stop.” Sherlock moves and drags John towards the kitchen.

“Why?”

“Here.” Sherlock stops at the kitchen door and swiftly glances upwards. “Now it’s perfect. You may kiss me now.”

John follows Sherlock’s gaze and finds something that he never expected from Sherlock. 

“Did you..”

“Went overkill and hung a mistletoe.” Sherlock sounds proud.

John is a fool if he doesn't kiss the smiling lips right then.

“Anything else you wanted? It's a bit hard to determine what's on your mind when Christmas doesn't come every day.” Sherlock curls his lips.

John smiles and wraps his arms around Sherlock tightly.

“I wanted nothing else.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes _. Cause I just want you here tonight _

_ Holding on to me so tight _ ”

Sherlock's eyes go wide in horror.

“John don’t sing please.”

In reply John wraps himself around Sherlock more tightly and sings louder.

“ _ What more can I do? _

_ Baby, all I want for Christmas is you _

_ You, baby. _ ”

Sherlock struggles under John's hold. And tries to give the impression that he isn't enjoying it at all.

“John this is embarrassing. For both you and me.” 

John doesn't miss the helpless smile on Sherlock's lips.

“ _ Make my wish come true _

_ Baby, all I want for Christmas is youuuu _

_ You, baby youuuuuuuuuuuuuu _ ”

Sherlock frees himself from John’s grip with a red face and huge grin and walks towards the living room and John follows, still singing and laughing. 

John never knew that this was the Christmas he wanted.

 

**\--x--**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is. End of my Christmas fluff fic. I hope you guys enjoyed.   
> Merry Christmas everyone. Have a wonderful holiday.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos, comments, meaningless steam of incoherent words..Everything is equally appreciated in this house.  
> If you wanna talk,[This](http://love-in-mind-palace.tumblr.com) is where you can find me.


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